


The Glint of Light On Broken Glass (Tumblr Prompts)

by ababybat



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-05-07 11:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5454242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ababybat/pseuds/ababybat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts from Tumblr for various DC pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. this is what we've got (and what we've got is gold) - dickdami

**Author's Note:**

> Rating will change, and more tags will be added.

The apartment is still calm and silent when Dick returns home.

 

Dick makes sure to be as quiet as possible when he walks over the threshold and into his warm home.

 

Damian is a notoriously light sleeper, waking in an instant whenever someone makes too much noise, and Damian deserves to sleep in because he wants to spend a lazy morning in bed, and not because he's utterly exhausted from spending a whole night battling against Gotham's more nefarious citizens.

 

His keys make barely a sound when Dick puts them down on the kitchen island. A bag of freshly baked bagels and a cup holder (one chestnut praline latte and one peppermint mocha) are placed next to them. With his hands finally free, Dick unwinds his wool scarf from around his neck, and then quickly shrugs out of his winter coat.

 

It feels somewhat strange to be able to enjoy the quiet of a normal Sunday morning. How rare that there aren't any serious wounds to worry about or any cases to follow up on, Dick thinks with a growing smile on his handsome face.

 

Grabbing the two cups, Dick heads down the short hallway towards his bedroom. His footsteps remain quiet and careful, and when he gets to his bedroom, Dick pushes the door open with his shoulder.

 

It opens easily, and Damian is still exactly where Dick left him - in bed and wrapped up in many blankets. Damian seems to have cocooned himself in them, as if he dreaded the idea of any cold air somehow coming in.

 

Dick is laughing, a low vibration moving up in his chest, before he can even think to stop himself. It's not every day that he gets to see Damian being wonderfully lazy with no troubles plaguing weighing him down. Some careful pleading aided by many puppy eyes made Damian agree to take a night off, and it was so worth it.

 

The cups temporarily go on the nightstand as Dick kicks off his shoes and climbs onto the bed. There's a pleased sigh when Dick wraps his arms around the younger man. Damian is awake, has probably been so since Dick stepped into the apartment, but complete trust in Dick kept him relaxed; happy.

 

Damian's complete trust in him will always surprise Dick, and he wonders, once again, what exactly he did to deserve Damian's trust and devotion.

 

"Grayson." With his voice still thick with sleep, Dick's name sounds suspiciously like a whine. It has Dick holding on tighter.

 

Damian rolls over onto his back, the cocoon opening to let the older man in. Dick smiles, murmurs a  _hello_ that is felt more than heard, when two sleepy eyes blink up at him. Damian looks wonderful among Dick's blankets - his dark hair is an absolute mess with it swept up in every direction, and there's a warm flush to his cheeks.

 

Damian is beautiful. He never ceases to claim Dick's breath so effortlessly. Yeah it's cliché, would have Damian rolling his eyes if Dick ever said the words out loud, but maybe it's the truth. Maybe Dick is falling a little harder than he should be.

 

"I got us some breakfast." Dick says as he leans down to brush his lips against Damian's forehead. "I'm all out of your fancy tea leaves, so Starbucks will have to do."

 

"Hm." Damian's hands find their way into his hair. His fingertips whisper a silent  _welcome home_ against his scalp.

 

Dick breathes a delighted chuckle against Damian's skin.

 

What Dick wouldn't give for every day to be like this. It would be something wonderful to have Damian wake up here, in Dick's bed, slow and easy, instead of from a drug-induced sleep meant to mask the pain of too many beatings and too many close calls.

 

Reality has other plans for them, however, and Dick has learned to appreciate these moments when he gets them.


	2. losing what i never found - dickdami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating will go up, and tags will be added.

"I didn't have a reason back then."

 

Looking up from his packing, Damian sees Dick casually lean up against his bedroom's doorframe. His packing is almost done and the unexpected interruption is not appreciated, especially since Dick has been avoiding him since Damian came back home.

 

Damian is so ready to leave again. The idea of getting back on his bike and driving away from this troubled house, without looking back, not even once, is invigorating. How amusing - leaving everyone behind was so painful that first time, and now it's staying that makes an anxious knot form in his belly.

 

"What are you nattering on about, Grayson?"

 

The older man shoves his hands in his pockets and he seems to be transfixed by the way Damian is folding his clothes. "When you left," He replies, eyes finally meeting Damian's own, "I didn't have a reason to ask you to stay."

 

The wince that cuts through Damian is like a cold knife. He grimaces when a pain he shoved away and refused to acknowledge merrily slashes his heart and hacks up his insides.

 

He should really be over this by now, Damian thinks resentfully.

 

"That's what I told myself, anyway." Dick looks like he's approaching a wounded and wild animal when he begins to come closer. "I convinced myself you needed to experience things that a relationship with me would only hold you back from." He looks wretched, like this secret has been eating him from the inside. "You were a teenager, Damian. I wanted you to experience life fully, so when you told me you loved me and that you would stay if I asked, I lied when I said there was no reason for you to remain stuck here."

 

"Grayson." Damian whispers, hands clenching around a hoodie.

 

The sudden dizziness hits him hard. It makes the world around him spin and tilt dangerously. There is absolutely no way Dick is saying what Damian's mind thinks he's saying. And if Dick somehow  _is_ , then he can't possibly mean it.

 

"I lied, because I did have a reason," Dick continues like Damian's world isn't shattering around him, leaving invisible scars in his soul, "and that reason remains."

 

"And that reason is what exactly?"

 

"I love you." Dick shrugs like it's no big deal. "Always have."

 

And with those three words, Damian's whole body once again feels like it's about to crumble into dust.

 

Damian shivers and looks away. He doesn't want to see the cautious optimism lurking deep within Dick's eyes. It reminds Damian too much of the hope he clung to so desperately. It was a kind of hope that did more harm than good. The kind of hope Damian had to completely destroy just so he could learn to breathe on his own again.

 

He finds himself wondering if a day will come when Dick won't be able to shatter his entire world with a careless word.


	3. up (and not away) - dickdami

"Up you go!"

 

Surrounded by too much noise and too many people, Damian doesn't see it coming like he should have. One second he finds himself standing among a crowd, feet planted firmly on the ground and a scowl ready for anyone who would dare push into him, and the next he's being lifted up and onto Dick's shoulders. An alarmed and embarrassingly squeaky (he has no time for his voice breaking, damn it) _Grayson_ is all form of protest he can think of. It takes a second for Damian to adjust to his new position - to find his balance and make sure his weight won't tip them both over. At fifteen he's not as big as he always imagined he'd be, but Damian knows he's still heavier than the ten-year-old Dick _used_ to carry around like it was no big deal.

 

Dick doesn't seem to really notice the extra weight. He leans his head back, grins up at Damian. "Now you can see better."

 

"Tt." As if he cares about being able to better see a group of sweaty and overexcited people on stage making fools of themselves. Coming to this silly concert was not his idea. While Damian won't admit it out loud, he's only here so he can spend more time with Dick. "I am not a child anymore, Grayson."

 

"I know." Dick's grin never wavers, but there's a hint of sadness in him that Damian can sense. It's not as if his age is brought up often, but whenever it is Dick acts like Damian growing up actually pains him. Of course it does, Damian scoffs internally, the man is a sap and even something mundane as growing older makes him sad.

 

Still, it means Dick misses how they used to be as much as Damian does. They do not see each other often anymore, and sometimes even Damian wishes he could be ten again, swinging off buildings and following a caped Dick across Gotham's rooftops.

 

Maybe it's not all bad being up here, Damian thinks. He _can_ actually see the stage better like this, and when he notices people behind and around them glaring, some even make crude comments, Damian smirks. Spending any quality time with Dick is always fun, and being able to piss people off in the process is simply a wonderful bonus.


	4. you reflect in this heart of mine - timdami

"I really thought you would have more stuff."

 

Tim is so very careful when he lowers the box labeled _art supplies_ down onto the hardwood floor of his living room.

 

His apartment has quite a few carefully marked boxes sitting around, but there are far fewer than Tim thinks there should be. The uncomfortable sensation lingering in the depths of his belly could simply be paranoia rearing its familiarly ugly head, but Tim is almost certain Damian has left most of his things in storage. Keeping his things in storage would mean Damian would have an easier time of separating himself from Tim should things between them go wrong.

 

Tim's willing to admit that Damian thinking about possible escape plans hurts when Tim himself has, for once, tried _not_ to.

 

"I've lived with father for years, Drake." Damian says with a casual shrug of his shoulders. He's kneeling on the floor, making sure nothing broke or got lost in the move. "What would I do with _stuff_ when the manor comes with anything and everything I could possibly want or need?"

 

Alright, that is a fair point. Tim only really started accumulating his own junk until he moved out into a place of his own.

 

Still, the self doubt lingers. Tim only hopes he doesn't look too obvious when he jokes with a strained laugh: "I guess this is your last chance to back out."

 

But Damian has him figured out the moment their eyes meet.

 

There's a furrow in his brow as Damian takes the new information in; as he carefully acknowledges Tim's insecurities, and then slowly decides what to do with them. He looks away, closes a box he was looking through, and then pulls himself to his feet.

 

Internally Tim is panicking. He should learn how to keep his mouth shut, _damn it_.

 

Damian's long legs has him in front of Tim within a second or two. "I would not have agreed to move in with you if I did not want to be here." Damian says, cupping Tim's face between his beautiful hands. A smile, small, careful, is gracing his handsome face. "I would not be here if I didn't think it could work."

 

And just like that the insecurities vanish in the wake of Damian's words. At least for now.

 

Tim finds himself smiling too.


	5. the best revenge (sort of timkon; past!jaytim)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this months ago. After rereading it now, I liked it enough that I decided to add it here. Plus I'm sad that timkon is basically dead, so... Yeah. :///

So what if it's a bad idea? Tim has had many bad ideas in his lifetime, and he's turned out alright. And being just on the side of tipsy, and on the corner of drunk, this doesn't _really_ seem like such a bad idea. But still, Stephanie's slurred warning that he was making a mistake rings in his ears. He shakes his head, shoves her voice out of his mind, slams the bathroom door behind him and hopes he woke her up from her drunken slumber. He shouldn't be so petty, he knows, but Stephanie is his best friend and Tim's pretty sure Stephanie has to support every decision he makes, even the bad ones. It's a bff rule, or something.

 

Pulling out his phone, Tim settles down on the edge of the tub. There's an alarming second when his body tries to tilt over, but he grabs the edge of the tub just in time. The phone drops to the tiled floor, and Tim frowns down at it.

 

This is a bad idea, but Tim has things he needs to say, that he's bottled up since the big break up, and he's not going to be kept silent anymore. His words deserve to be said and heard.

 

Bending down is harder than usual, and Tim struggles for a good few seconds to actually grab the stupid phone. When he does, there's a successful cry of "ah-ha!" and this time when Tim straightens, he somehow manages to keep his balance and not almost tip back over again.

 

Biting his lip and frowning, Tim goes about dialing Jason's number. He deleted Jason's number when things ended between them, suddenly regrets that because typing while not entirely sober is harder than it should be. The phone rings, and rings, when suddenly it cuts out and a voice tells him to leave a message after the beep. Jason used to have a personalized thing for his answering machine - something clever and witty, and oh so Jason - but that seems to have changed, too, along with his dwindling feelings for Tim.

 

"Listen here, you gorgeous asshole," Tim hisses, already regrets the _gorgeous_ that slipped through - maybe he should be more sober when attempting this, "you are not as cool as you think you are, and I'm definitely not just saying that because you broke my heart. You... you..." Tim's drunk mind stumbles, too many thoughts and emotions and his heart aches, still wounded despite months having crawled by at an agonizingly slow pace since Jason decided to walk away, "I miss you, and I hate that I still feel this way because you definitely don't deserve me pining after you like some idiot who can't move on." Tim bows his head, rakes his hand through hair that has gotten too long. "I miss you, and you don't deserve me missing you, and that's all there is to it." Pulling the phone away from his ear, Tim ends the call. It didn't go as he planned - he wanted to rip Jason a new one, to make Jason feel bad for leaving him, but the words dried up inside his throat and he ended up being more honest than he wanted to be.

 

This was a bad idea. Tim hates it when Stephanie is right.

 

* * *

 

 

Waking up the next morning is an ordeal. Tim groans into his pillow. His head is pounding, stomach rolling, and even his eyes seem to burn when he finally manages to open them. Squinting, Tim raises his head, and looks around. It's definitely still morning, but he has no idea what time it is. Should he go shower and attempt getting over this hangover, or would burying back underneath the covers be alright? Reaching for his phone to see what time it is, Tim becomes sidetracked when he sees the "1 missed call" and voicemail notification.

 

"Uh, hi," A voice Tim has never heard before sounds in his ear, "My name's Conner, and I think you might have accidentally dialed the wrong number," as soon as this _Conner_ says the words, memories of the previous night come flooding back, his great plan to really tell Jason how he feels and Stephanie's warning, and Tim is left groaning loudly, humiliated so deeply his very soul aches from the embarrassment, "Anyway, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry he broke your heart. You sound like a nice guy, and..." there's an awkward chuckle, and Tim can picture Conner pulling the phone away as he murmurs, "God I'm so lame." It has Tim smiling and laughing, amused and, well, touched. "I hope you get to move on, and be happy." There's a gush of breath in his ear as Conner exhales. "So, yeah, happiness is the best revenge and all that. Bye."

 

Tim lowers the phone, drops it to the bed, his head following. He laughs into his pillow, feels awed that a complete stranger would phone to comfort him, wonders who could possibly be _nice_ enough to not simply delete the message and forget about it.

 

Feeling lighter than he has in months, and all because a stranger cared enough to leave him a somewhat encouraging voicemail, Tim pulls himself out of bed and gets ready to shower.

 

It's the first step in moving on.


End file.
